The Games We Play
by Lala Kate
Summary: Drabbles/additions set in "The Hungover Games" verse.
1. Reading Between the Lines

_This is dedicated to my wonderful friend KP. Happy Birthday, dear one! I hope you enjoy this. _

_Set in "The Hungover Games" verse, so this will make much more sense if you have read that at least through Chapter 7. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

_I've tried ringing your flat at least six times. Please call._

Where the hell is that brother of hers?

He's been out of touch lately, and it bothers her more than she cares to admit. She's become accustomed to hearing from him on a daily basis ever since his marriage to Freda fell apart, and she still fears for his emotional state, wishing he would get out and truly begin a new life for himself.

"I'm fine Lu," he always insists when she brings it up. "I neither need nor want the complication of a relationship right now."

But he's lonely, and she senses it—she sees it, in the deepening creases of his eyes, the sad tilt of his expression, the lost look of a little boy he lets slip when he thinks she isn't paying attention.

God—if that woman is trying to sink her talons into him again now that all of his hard work and determined efforts are finally paying off in spades…

_You're worrying the family, I hope you know. Please text me to let me know you're alright._

Please text me to let me know you're not in danger of falling for that bitch again, she thinks, pacing the carpet as she wills her phone to vibrate.

Then it does.

_This is Mary. Charles is fine, just in the shower. I'll have him call you as soon as he's finished._

Mary? Who the hell is Mary? And Charles is in her shower? A tickling sensation races up her spine.

"Thank God," she whispers to herself, nearly giddy knowing her baby brother is both safe and finally getting out there again.

_Mary? This is Lucy, Charles's sister. Have we met?_

She closes her eyes, trying to recall every conversation they'd had over the past three weeks, mentally pulling up every pretty face at his last book signing, wondering just why Charles had failed to mention this Mary to her or to anyone else in the family.

_No, but I saw your text and didn't want you to worry about him. He's staying at my flat to help me as I have recently sprained my knee and cannot walk very well. _

Ok—she doesn't know her—but Charles has basically moved in with this woman already? Of course, he could be doing it out of the goodness of his heart, but she pushes that notion aside immediately. At least this Mary is thoughtful enough to inform Lucy that her brother is safe and sound.

_A sprained knee? That has to be painful. He helped me when I broke my leg when we were kids. I was horrid with crutches. He has never stopped teasing me about it._

"Limpy Lu" he had deemed her, a nickname that had stuck all too well and still made her grit her teeth. Of course, Charles had taken it upon himself to share it with Rob right after he and Lucy had become engaged three and a half years ago.

She still hasn't completely forgiven brother-dearest for that one.

_Crutches are instruments of torture. And I tease him as relentlessly as he teases me._

She likes this Mary better and better.

_I'm glad to hear it. He deserves all of it and more. Let me know if you ever run out of fuel. I'll send insider's information._

This could be fun. Yes, this could be very fun indeed!

_I''ll keep that in mind. It's always helpful to have a knowledgeable source._

A laugh that both feels and sounds evil emerges from her throat, summoning her husband from the other room.

"Who are you texting?" he inquires, clad in boxers and his favorite t-shirt she wishes he would throw away.

_Big sisters always know the truth._

"Charles's new girlfriend," Lucy smiles as she touches _Send,_ raising Rob's brows in the process.

"Charles has a new girlfriend?" her husband echoes. "When did this happen?"

"I don't know, but I'm guessing sometime over the past three weeks," she responds a bit too gleefully. "He's been pretty quiet lately."

"He's been otherwise occupied, it would seem," Rob states, leaning forward to plant a kiss on her lips before he is attacked from behind.

"You're surrounded, villain," their four year old son exclaims as he grabs his father's legs. "Give me all your money so I can give it to the poor."

"You took it all yesterday," Rob claims, raising both hands. "I am the poor now."

Lucy grins at their antics as her fingers whiz across her phone.

_Please tell him that our sister Sharon has gone into labor. He's going to be an uncle again very soon._

"Likely story, villain," Edward cries out, the dark curls falling into his eyes reminding his mother that the boy needs a haircut soon.

"Take him to see Max sometime this week, alright?" she instructs her husband, receiving a nod of acknowledgement as her phone vibrates again.

_He's nearly done, and I'll tell him about Sharon. We'll have to chat again later. It's been lovely meeting you, Lucy._

She grins like a school girl, certain Charles has no idea that his new girlfriend has been texting his sister and wondering just how he'll react when he finds out.

How she wishes she could be there to see his expression.

_Same to you, Mary. He's been keeping you a secret from us, you know. I'll have to reprimand him for that._

"You're looking too pleased with yourself," Rob cuts in as Edward scampers back towards his bedroom in search of his sword.

"I'm about to nail that brother of mine," she grins, biting her lower lip in anticipation as she composes another text.

_Mum—Charles has a new woman. Spent the night at her flat—that's why he hasn't been answering his phone._

Her stomach races, knowing her mother has her phone on hand awaiting news about Sharon.

_What? Details, Lucy Eleanor, and I mean immediately._

"I feel sorry for Charles," Rob murmurs over her shoulder. "He'll soon have the entire Feminine Blake Armada on his heels."

"He already has two-thirds of us," Lucy returns. "And this is good news. It's what we've all been waiting for, for someone to take his mind off of that witch of an ex-wife of his and remind him that he's got a lot to offer a woman."

_Charles, I've just told Mum about Mary. She wants more information immediately._

"Then perhaps you should leave well enough alone, Lu," her husband suggests, sliding his arm around her waist, nuzzling his nose under shoulder-length dark hair to nip that spot that tends to make her yelp. "Let Charles and this new woman find their own way while I find my way across you."

"I thought you had rounds," she hums, keeping an eye out for Edward as his finger traces her neckline.

"I still have time to go a round with you," he breathes.

She jumps at his kiss, pushing him back playfully as her phone alerts her to a text.

"Oh, God," she exclaims, showing the phone to her husband. "He sent a photo."

"Well done, Charles," Rob observes with a nod. "She's a bit of a stunner. I don't blame him for going after her."

"Watch it, Doc Maguire," she warns under her breath.

"No worries, love," he replies, planting a lingering kiss on the pulse point of her neck. "I do value my life, you know."

"Unhand her, villain," Edward commands, making Lucy chuckle as Rob swears under his breath, the tip of a plastic sword planted firmly in his left buttock.

"Go a round with your son," she whispers with a coy grin. "I'll be back by the time you get home this afternoon."

He walks away reluctantly before grabbing up the four year old and swinging him over his shoulder, Edward's belly-laugh squeezing her heart.

_She's stunning, even first thing in the morning. Rob says, "Well done." But you're a complete ass for snapping a photo of her when she clearly wasn't expecting it. You didn't even give her a chance to get properly dressed or brush her hair._

She then quickly forwards the photo to her mother, pacing at a feverish pace awaiting her response.

_She's gorgeous, isn't she? Lord, they would make pretty babies._

She laughs out loud.

_You'd finally get another dark-headed grandchild. I think we have enough red-heads in the family._

She swallows down the slight sting that always accompanies the mention of more grandchildren, laying a hand over her trim waist for a fleeting moment.

_We have enough boys in the family. I'm placing my order for a raven-haired granddaughter right now. Of course, it's probably a bit early in the relationship for me to mention that to Mary._

She shakes her head at her mother and plops down on the sofa.

_Don't you think it would be wise to meet her first, Mum?_

_Of course! I'll organize a family dinner as soon as Sharon is up and about again. We'll let Mary hold the baby to see how she is with children. That's always a good test._

Lucy's eyebrows fly up, remembering how Freda avoided Sharon's boys and Edward as if they carried the Bubonic Plague.

_I'll see if I can manage a way to meet her this week. Will prod Charles for more information and will try to procure her phone number. I really enjoyed exchanging texts with her._

She stares at Mary's photo yet again, trying to piece together a basic personality framework.

_Good work, Lucy. Report all findings to me. Wait—getting a text from Donny._

She holds her breath, hoping all has gone smoothly for her older sister.

_Joshua Andrew is here! And Sharon was marvelous, Donny says. Another gingersnap, it would seem. Now I must meet Mary as soon as possible. Will text Charles immediately._

"I'll say it again," Rob breathes from over her shoulder, making her heart jump. "Poor Charles."

"Yes," Lucy smiles back at her husband. "Poor Charles, indeed."


	2. Just Breathe

_As requested by thefoodofloveismusic on tumblr. Matthew and Mary's break-up. _

* * *

"I can't do this anymore, Mary. It's not fair to either of us, and I think you know that."

The words sail over her like a sandstorm, piercing her skin, blurring her vision, forcing her to focusing on simply drawing air into her lungs when it hurts just to try.

"I think you're over-reacting, Matthew. We can discuss this rationally."

"We've been discussing this for months," he fires back, continuing his pacing across her floor that is beginning to make her dizzy. "The problem is we never move anywhere. We just circle around the same issues, repeat the same conversations and end up exactly where we started."

A frigid understanding smacks her chest, and she knows he is right, knows this is her fault, wishes she understood why setting a date for their wedding scares the hell out of her.

"I don't want to lose you, Matthew."

Her hands are shaking, eyes brimming to the point of saturation, and she forces herself to face him, to not walk away as is her normal mode of defense.

It is he who turns his back to her this time, exhaling loudly, raking a frustrated hand through that mop on his head she loves to plunder.

"Do you think this is easy for me, Mary?" he asks, the ragged edge of his voice alerting her to his own tears. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

The words catch in her throat, the ones she knows he wants to hear, the ones that terrify her for reasons she cannot entertain.

"Then why are you leaving me?"

She hates the weakness of her tone and stands up straighter, wiping her cheeks quickly, trying with everything she has to hold back the onslaught threatening to engulf her.

"Because we're toxic, pure and simple."

He turns to face her again, the raw agony on his face nearly buckling her knees.

"We do nothing but hurt each other and make up, frustrate each other and then fall in bed," he continues, shaking his head. "We can't seem to move past that, and I want more. I need more."

He wants a wife, children, a house in the country, a dog in the yard. She wants him to fit in the world she knows, a world he thinks should be temporary, a realm in which she feels safe. Oil and water, she has thought before in the dark solitude of her bedroom.

But she loves him. She loves..

His lips are on hers in a second, tears mixing freely, mouths open and dry, imprinting a cry into the caverns of their souls. Years of misunderstandings sear on her tongue, pleas meeting denial, pain meeting pain. Her mouth begs him to stay in her private language, touching, clasping, licking, biting…

But he doesn't hear her.

Rather, he draws back, moves away, eyes gazing at her with a heaviness that marks her, breaking something inside of her she fears is eternally beyond repair.

"Good-bye, Mary."

His whisper leaves her immobile, and she watches him walk out her door, out of her life, into a future he will live without her.

Without her. Oh, God.

"I love you, Matthew," she cries from her soul, her confession lost into air with no feeling, the knowledge she is too late reducing her to ash.

It is over. He is gone. And she cannot breathe.


	3. The Book Signing

_Where are you? I'm standing in the front of the book store, and I can't find you anywhere._

She keeps attempting to spot him from her place in the assembled crowd, wondering why he hadn't met her at the entrance rather than instructing her to come inside and wait. She is surprised at the turn-out, not anticipating so many people would be in attendance.

_I'm coming, just sit tight! I've been unavoidably detained, but will be there momentarily. _

This blasted outing is still a mystery to her, his cryptic attitude about the entire thing irritating and provoking her thoroughly, just as he most assuredly intended. She knows he likes this writer, but to ask her to dress up a bit and be his date for the evening? Who needs a date for a book signing? There has to be more to it than the obvious.

_I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. This brace is still not the easiest piece of equipment to maneuver, you know._

_I'm certain. Thankfully, my equipment is much more versatile and responsive to movement._

A slow burn sparks in her lower belly, and she moans to herself, certain no one will hear her in the din of the room.

_Your cockiness is astonishing, you realize. Ever wonder if the world would be better off without your delusions of grandeur?_

_I'm just delighted you think my cock is astonishing._

Bastard.

It is then she spots her—at least she thinks it's her—it's hard to tell from this angle amid the stagnant crowd. She moves to her right, tilting her head just so, brushing stray hair from her eyes as she wills the woman to turn her face in her direction.

Then she does, just slightly, but it is enough. It is more than enough, actually. Fuck. Oh, FUCK!

"There you are."

His whisper over her shoulder makes her jump, and she whirls on him awkwardly.

"God, you're white as a ghost," Charles murmurs, tugging her into a door clearly labeled "Staff Only." "What's the matter?"

"Isobel," she replies, shaking her head. "Matthew's mother. She's here for the signing."

His expression freezes, his mind clearly mulling over her circumstances, and he takes her hands within his.

"Look at me, Mary," he whispers. "Just breathe."

She shakes her head, remembering too many dinners at the woman's table, lunches at their favorite café, missing the relationship she had forged with Isobel Crawley over the years even as she and Matthew always seemed to tread tumultuous ground.

But Isobel now had a new daughter-in-law, a different daughter-in-law, one with a much less difficult demeanor and softer, kinder edges

"I'm not cut out for this," she insists. "I'm not ready to face her yet. God, I have no idea what she must think of me now."

He kisses the top of her hands, gazing straight into her.

"You don't have to worry about what she thinks," he states rationally. "But you don't have to stay, either. Not if you don't want to, Mary. I can arrange for a friend of mine to take you home if you prefer."

An intangible thread pulls her in closer, and she stares into eyes that have asked so little yet given so much.

"No," she exhales, forcing a steadiness into her tone she does not feel. "I know this is important to you for some reason, and I don't want to let you down. You've done so much for me, and…"

"None of that," he insists, turning her legs to liquid as he gently strokes her cheek. "You're under no obligation to face Matthew's mother this evening. I wouldn't ask that of you."

A warmth hits her hard squarely in the chest, and she sighs into him slightly, wanting more than anything to simply fall into his arms and be kissed into oblivion.

"I know you wouldn't," she returns, drawing the spicy scent of him into her lungs. "Which is why I refuse to leave."


	4. Rude Awakening

Mary's chest heaves, bouncing up and back into her mattress, her voice letting out an unattractive squeak that sounds unnaturally loud in her bedroom.

Damn it all. Hiccups.

Insomnia has been her personal instrument of torture tonight, and she has tried every possible cure, running out of sheep over an hour ago and blessings long before that. A clean, natural scent hits her squarely again, and she bites her lower lip, knowing fully well the real culprit for the dull throbbing between her thighs and inability to sleep. He is tan and dimpled, irritatingly handsome, too smart for her own good and lying right next to her. She moans into her pillow just before her body jerks in a yelp.

God—she wants to scream them away.

She had been nearly asleep, finally, just on the verge, and now this. She sucks in her breath, holding it and counting silently to herself. _One, two, three, four, fi—_

Another one hits, and she tries the process again, this time making it all the way to seven before…

Shit. This isn't working well at all.

She looks beside her, and sees that he is sleeping like the dead. The peaceful expression on his face is too breathtaking to disturb, and she stares at him for a moment, daring to stretch out a hand, to brush back a lock of dark hair, to trace the resting arch of his brow with the tip of her finger.

_Idiot,_ she murmurs to herself, uncertain if she is describing him or herself. Her body jerks upwards yet again. Ugh.

She pushes herself up on her elbows, swinging her legs off the bed, her knee protesting only slightly this time, but the movement still cumbersome. Her water glass lies just within reach, and she gulps it down, careful not to spill on the sheets, holding her breath again as she dares to let herself hope.

_Eight, nine, Te—eeep._

Shit.

He mumbles something beside her, but his speech is slurred and muffled. It's a wonder she hasn't woken him up with the way her body is jerking itself around. She sits up fully, trying once again to swallow the pesky buggers away, but they're now coming faster, making her angrier by the second. She braces her torso, mentally preparing herself for the journey to the kitchen on crutches, those bloody instruments of torture she'd like to burn into ash.

"Mary."

Her head jerks around to find his eyes still shut, and she leans closer, attempting to discern whether or not he is awake.

"Yes?" she breathes, watching his face twitch just before she hiccups yet again.

There is no response, and she sighs audibly, pushing herself up slightly, turning her waist to attempt her journey when his hand wraps around her arm.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Her breath catches, her mouth goes dry at the soft demand in his touch, her insides responding all too fast. His tone is low and husky, his lips only half-moving, and she looks back at him, certain that he sleeps.

Is he dreaming? About her?

"I need some water," she murmurs, watching him carefully to see if her reasoning satisfies him or not, but his grip on her tightens, and a low chuckle rumbles up from his chest.

"Come back here," he insists, giving her a gentle tug but enough of one to pull her nearly flat beside him. God—her knee winces—and she manages to maneuver it back on to the bed with her free arm, a soft _eep_ bouncing into his shoulder but not pulling him from sleep.

"Charles, I—" but her words are cut off by his mouth, insistent and hot and everywhere at once. He drinks from her lips, from her tongue, then moves on to sample her neck, working her into a mild frenzy within mere seconds.

"Charles," she tries again, half-needing to return him to consciousness, half-wanting him to continue on as he is. His hand then fastens over her breast, teasing her through her t-shirt, and she presses her chest into his, clasping his head, bringing his mouth back to hers in a passionate fury.

Forget waking him up. What the hell had she been thinking?

She kisses him hard, the pressure of his hand increasing exponentially as exploration moves into a squeeze. A moan rips out of her, cut off early by another hiccup, but she is beyond the point of caring now. Then he is half-on top of her, pressing a very firm arousal against her hips, her arms wrapping themselves around his body in desperation as his teeth tug at her nipple through soft cotton.

Then a loud crash makes her start, and she jumps up, pushing herself away from him quickly as he manages to blink his eyes in confusion.

"Mary?"

She swallows audibly, pulling the sheet over her moistened breast in haste.

"Are you alright?"

She nods, her body shaking with tension, humming with need, startled by the sound of her crutch falling unceremoniously to the floor.

Those bloody sticks of destruction.

"What happened?"

His hand rakes his hair, and he looks to her, seemingly attempting to sort what had been mere dreams and an all too potent reality.

"My crutch fell," she answered, scooting further on to her side of the bed. "I needed some water for my hiccups, and.."

She stops, touching her throat. They're gone.

"Shall I get you some?"

He still looks dazed, his hair all rumpled and too damned touchable.

"I seem to be alright now," she admits. God, she misses his mouth already.

He nods but doesn't move, his hand moving as if to stroke her hair before he thinks better of it. Her chest deflates in disappointment.

"You should sleep," he whispers gently as he eases himself back down on to his pillow.

"I know," she returns. "It's just not coming easily tonight."

"Then let me help."

Strong arms then draw her into him, spooning her close, warming her back, and he presses a light kiss to her cheek, making her close her eyes, but she is unable to quell the strong sensation his lips unleash on a body already sensitized to his touch.

"Close your eyes," he instructs, his fingers stroking her forehead and hair, lulling her into a world of contentment and torture only he can concoct. "And rest."

His voice is hypnotic, and he begins to hum, the timbre of his melody wafting her upstream on a one-way collision-course towards certain disaster.

"Idiot," she whispers, hearing him chuckle at her accusation, knowing she has no one to blame for her current predicament but herself.


End file.
